Barry Cornwall's Latest Poem

From Winchester News, August 18, 1865, are two short poems, possibly both by Barry Cornwall, but the first almost certainly is his. This front-page news reads:

Should you dream ever of the days departed—

Of youth and morning no more to return—

Forget not me, so fond and passionate-hearted :

Quiet at last, reposing

Under the moss and fern.

 

There, where the fretful lake in stormy weather

Comes circling round the reddening churchyard pines,

Rest, and call back the hours we lost together,

Taking of hope, and soaring

Beyond poor earth’s confines. 

 

If, for those heavenly dreams too dimly sighted,

You became false—why, ’tis a story old ;

I, overcome by pain and unrequited,

Faded at last, and slumber

Under the autumn mould.

 

Farewell, farewell ! No longer plighted lovers,

Doomed for a day to sigh for sweet return;

One lives, indeed; one-heart the green earth covers—

Quiet at last, reposing

Under the moss and fern.

I've been hoping to uncover some local writing talent in my searches and thought perhaps I had found another person like C. Toler Wolfe. Not precisely! 

 

Bryan Wallace Procter, aka Barry Cornwall, from An Autobiographical Fragment and Biographical Notes

If you've been reading for a while, you might remember my first post about The Storm by Adelaide Procter also featured poetry. Barry Cornwall is the nom de plume of her father, Bryan Procter. This particular poem usually appears printed anonymously and under various titles, but the "official" title per the printing of his unpublished verse after his death is given as "Exhumo" or "Ex Humo." It looks like the first printing may have occurred in 1864 in a periodical titled The Month, so it took about a year for the poem to make it across the Atlantic and through the Civil War blockades to America.

The timing of this poem and the subject matter were suspiciously confluent to an event that occurred that year. Adelaide died in February of 1864, and Wikipedia claims most of Cornwall's poetry was published much earlier. It seems like this ode may have been inspired at least in part by his daughter's death. This hunch seems to be repeated in his biographical sketch:

The two great points of personal interest in Mr. Procter's later life were, first, the very distinguished position suddenly taken by his beloved daughter, Adelaide, as a poetess; and, secondly, her premature death, in 1864. [1]

Despite Cornwall/Procter's reputation as a talented poet in England during his life, many collections by the early 1900s started attributing this poem as anonymous. Much like his daughter, he is largely forgotten today, perhaps based on criticism implying his work was derivative of other notable writers of his era. While Wikipedia claims he was "rather unknown" outside of England, the fact that his latest poem to reach Winchester was printed front and center of the newspaper indicates he was perhaps more widely known and celebrated than commonly believed. A quick search brought up a reprinted poem as late as 1931, and contemporary articles indicate the identity of Barry Cornwall was an "open secret."

If this little example of his work has whet your appetite, you can explore both his poetry and prose at the Internet Archive.

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